


Provisionally Accepted

by Hours_Gone_By



Series: Assassin AU [3]
Category: Transformers - Aligned Continuity Family, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dinner, First Dates, M/M, Manipulation, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-13 20:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16899282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hours_Gone_By/pseuds/Hours_Gone_By
Summary: Jazz’s idea of a first date runs along the line of dinner or drinks and a show. So does Prowl’s…sort of.Originally posted as part ofAU Yeah August 2018. Separating it out to make it easier to follow as the series continues.





	Provisionally Accepted

**Author's Note:**

> It’s the Prime version of Prowl I’m picturing here, ‘cause seriously, [lookit this sexy beast](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/transformersprime/images/8/86/Trans4.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20121017085601%20target=).

Jazz hadn’t heard from Prowl in nearly a deca-cycle, since the morning he’d told Prowl to convince him to say ‘stay’ instead of ‘stay away.’ He’d expected to be relieved. Prowl was dangerous, unnerving, and had who knew how much energon on his hands. The problem was, despite all of that, Jazz still felt an attraction to him. It wasn’t healthy. The mech had accepted a contract to _kill him_ , for Primus’ sake!

 _Provisionally accepted_ , a little voice that sounded like Prowl’s whispered.

But if Prowl hadn’t decided it was unethical to kill Jazz, if Prowl had been any other hitmech, Jazz would be dead. If Prowl hadn’t decided it was unethical not to warn Jazz about the contract out on him, Jazz would be dead. Of course, Prowl always could have alerted him via a message or sent a tip to the police. He hadn’t had to infiltrate Jazz’s apartment via the balcony, scare the living hell out of him, and help himself to Jazz’s energon while delivering the message in person. Prowl’d been remarkably civil apart from that, but _still_.

Then Prowl had shown up when Jazz was getting his morning fuel at the café on the ground floor of his building. Twice, actually; the first to ask his ‘stay or go’ question, the second to get an answer. Since then, nothing.

Oddly, Jazz wasn’t worried that Prowl was watching – sorry, _surveilling_ – him. Prowl had said he’d stopped that once he’d decided not to accept the contract and Jazz believed him. Prowl’s reputation as an assassin was matched only by his commitment to his own form of ethics. He was pretty sure when Prowl decided to bestow attention on Jazz again, it would be done directly.

He was right.

Jazz was getting his evening energon when his apartment’s intercom buzzed. When he answered it, he was greeted with Prowl’s unforgettable voice.

“Hello, Jazz. Shall we have dinner tonight?”

While the processing part of Jazz was trying to decide if that were a good or a bad idea, the part that went ‘hot’ and ‘yes, please’ in response to Prowl took over.

“I’ll be right down.”

Jazz took the stairs to work off some of his nervous energy. He was a forensic accountant, he worked a day job, at a desk. He didn’t go haring off with assassins just because they purred his name and asked nicely!

 _The thought of ‘jazz’ brings to mind improvisation, enthusiasm, a free spirit,_ his memory replayed Prowl’s words of the previous deca-orn. _You got stuck._

“I thought you’d changed your mind,” Prowl said when Jazz entered the lobby. Prowl was lounging against one of the walls, the picture of a mech casually waiting for a friend.

“Took the stairs,” Jazz explained. Seeing Prowl in the lobby was surreal; if the mech had come back, Jazz had fully expected him to appear on the balcony of Jazz’s apartment again.

“Good idea. You might want a warm-up for tonight.” Prowl held out his hand. “Come on then, lover. I’ve got quite a night planned for us.”

Jazz hesitated. A vision of his desk, for some reason, flashed through his mind. Prowl smirked.

“One night. Then tell me to stay or go,” Prowl cajoled. “Come now, I won’t let harm befall you.”

Jazz believed him. Jazz took his hand.

“Where were you thinking of for dinner?” he asked Prowl as they left the building.

“We’re going to Incendium,” Prowl replied. “Have you been?”

Jazz had not, as it was incredibly outside his price range. But…

“Isn’t that closed today?”

“Not for us. Well. To be specific, not for _me_.” Prowl let go of Jazz’s hand and stepped off the sidewalk into the lane for mechs to transform to alt before they joined the flow of traffic. “Follow me, lover.”

Incendium was probably the sort of place Prowl would think nothing of dining at, even if it was expensive for someone like Jazz. Renting out the entire restaurant seemed overly extravagant, even for Prowl. Lavish gifts early in the relationship were a potential red flag, Jazz recalled from somewhere, and a definite one if the giver expressed that the recipient then ‘owed’ them. If that happened, Jazz supposed he’d find out if Prowl really meant he’d stay away if Jazz told him to.

Prowl did not pull into the driveway in front of the business, where mechs would typically drive up to the door then transform. He circled the block and pulled in to the delivery area. Jazz hesitantly followed.

“If we go in the front entrance, we’ll be interrupted all night by mechs hoping to get in,” Prowl explained after they’d transformed. “This way might not be romantic, but it is practical. Follow me.”

Jazz was still hesitant but felt marginally better when he saw Prowl had a keycode to enter. Of course, he realized a moment later, it didn’t necessarily mean Prowl had obtained it legitimately.

Prowl reached back a hand for Jazz to take, again. “Second thoughts, lover?”

“Just wondering how you got the keycode,” Jazz admitted, though he took Prowl’s hand anyway. “Does – the owner does know we’re here, don’t they?”

Prowl squeezed Jazz’s hand reassuringly. “He does. This way.”

Prowl led Jazz through a storage area filled with stored equipment and furniture, down a hall with offices on either side of it, to a private dining room. The private room sat at the back of the main room and warm golden light spilled from it. A blue and red mech with a gold chevron, bearing a striking resemblance to Prowl, waited for them.

“Jazz, my younger brother and Incendium’s owner, Smokescreen,” Prowl introduced. “He’s an inveterate gambler and hustler who uses the restaurant to launder money. Smokescreen, this is Jazz.”

Jazz, less stunned by Prowl’s casual admissions than he would have been deca-orns ago, held out his hand. Smokescreen shook it, looking Jazz over critically. Jazz had the strongest feeling that the brothers were going to have A Discussion about him later.

“He wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust him,” Prowl said mildly, replying to something Smokescreen hadn’t said. “Besides, better he knows where the family money originates from the start.”

“For an assassin, my brother is disarmingly honest at times,” Smokescreen told Jazz. “I suggest you not betray his trust.”

“Smokescreen, please don’t obliquely threaten my date.”

“I’m not one to do it directly, Prowl.”

“I’m not going to betray anyone,” Jazz insisted.

“He isn’t,” Prowl added. “If he were, he’d have done it after the first time we had energon together.” That…was not exactly what Jazz would have called it, but he didn’t offer a correction. “Anyway, this isn’t what we’re here for. Is everything in place?”

“Just as you requested. Lock up when you leave?”

 “My apologies on behalf of my brother,” Prowl said, gesturing Jazz to a seat at the small table in the centre of the room.  Slightly unnerved by Smokescreen, Jazz took in that the room was panelled in light stone and had a curving, modern, light fixture above the table but not much else. The table was set for two, covered plates already at each place.

“Normally this would be the point where we learn about each other,” Prowl remarked, sitting down opposite Jazz. He poured them drinks from a pitcher. “But I think we’ve covered the basics. Oh, and you don’t need to worry about poison. Smokescreen is a remorseless cheat at the gambling tables and a very skilled money launderer but he doesn’t kill people. He won’t even cheat you because he knows it would upset me. I _like_ you, Jazz. I respect you. You knew who and what I am, and not once did you beg me not to kill you or threaten me with what would happen if I did. You didn’t give the police my name when you reported the tip – incidentally, why didn’t you?”

“What should I have told them?” Jazz countered. “An urban legend strolled in, had energon with me, warned me my life was in danger, then hopped off my balcony and went on his way?”

“Urban legend,” Prowl repeated, corner of his mouth quirking upward in a smile. “But I’m very real – though difficult to prove the existence of, I admit. I’ve put quite a bit of effort into that.” He gestured at Jazz’s cup, made of intricately chased metal. “Drink, please. As I said, it’s not poisoned. Besides, I’ve had your energon – interesting that you said ‘had energon with me’ and not ‘stole my energon,’ by the way.”

“I – hadn’t been thinking about it that way,” Jazz admitted, and took a sip of his drink.

“Interesting,” Prowl murmured. “How is the drink?”

“Delicious.” _Expensive_ , Jazz thought. Was this how Prowl dined regularly? Or was he trying to impress Jazz?

“Then you’ll enjoy these too.” Prowl took the covers off their plates, setting them on a small side-table, and revealing an intricately stacked spiral of tiny cubes, grading in colour from regular mid-grade at the top to bright, shining, high-grade at the bottom. A crisp, curving energon wafer graced the top. Prowl picked his up and snapped it in half. “Start at the top, work your way down the spiral to the bottom.” He ate one half of the wafer, optics dimming briefly in enjoyment.

“So, this was all paid for by gambling and assassination?” Jazz asked.

“Not entirely. I have another brother who’s a merchant and has invested perfectly legitimate money in the restaurant.” Prowl paused to eat the other half of the wafer. “He knows what we do, of course.”

“You don’t seem to be at pains to hide it.” Jazz treated his wafer the same way Prowl had and understood the other mech’s reaction at first taste. It was faintly spicy at first, melting into sweetness, then cooling as it fully dissolved, helping clear his palate.

“Excellent, yes?” Prowl’s gaze fixed for longer than strictly appropriate on Jazz’s mouth. “And no, I am not hiding anything from my brothers – nor from you.”

“Why not?”

Prowl just smiled. “Fuel. This isn’t all I planned for tonight.”

The assassin steered the conversation into different topics, more neutral ones as they refuelled. Jazz went along with it, knowing that any questions he tried to ask would be skimmed over at best until Prowl felt like answering them.

The rest of his dinner was as delectable as the wafers had been, and Jazz had a faint buzz from the high grade at the bottom of the spiral by the time he finished. Those cubes were small but potent, but…he didn’t think they were responsible for how much he’d enjoyed the evening so far. The seed crystal of that had begun to grow when Prowl had buzzed his apartment.

“The overenergized feeling will wear off soon enough,” Prowl told him, seeming completely unaffected. “As will getting to our next stop. It requires a small bit of effort, but I think you’ll find it worth it.”

Jazz followed Prowl back through the administrative and storage areas of the restaurant, not seeing plate nor fleck of Smokescreen, and then drove behind him to the theatre district. Once again, Prowl used the delivery area rather than the front doors, though Jazz knew full well from driving by that every theatre, concert hall, bar, and restaurant on the street was open.

“Is this the business your other brother owns?” Jazz asked Prowl, following him along the back of the building.

“Not at all.” Prowl took two quick steps and leapt up onto the fire escape ladder. “Come along, dear. The show’s about to start.”

“And we’re getting in through the fire escape?” Jazz asked skeptically.

“What? You’ll readily have dinner, in private, with a mech you know to be a dangerous assassin, but you balk at a little break-and-enter?” Prowl’s tone was light, teasing. He spun around to face Jazz, balancing with one boot and one hand on the ladder. “Our presence has been paid for – well, more exchanged for – but since the owner of the establishment didn’t want to see me again, he ought to have expected something like this. There’ll be no harm done. Or, say ‘no’ and we enter the mundane way.”

Jazz warred with himself. He worked with the city police. He investigated crime, he wasn’t supposed to commit it. Even minor ones.

 _You should find something you enjoy_ , the memory of Prowl’s voice whispered again.

It was minor, after all. Prowl had said their presence had been paid for, after a fashion, and that no harm would be done. And apart from his victims Prowl never left traces. Was it that much worse than accepting a dinner invitation from a murderer? Taking fuel bought with shanix that came from cheating and assassination, in a restaurant built with the same?

Jazz gave in to his previously reluctant fascination with the assassin and followed Prowl up the ladder.

Prowl led them all the way up to the roof, then to a skylight above a darkened hall. He slipped the latch on the light with what looked even to Jazz like ridiculous ease and dropped through, landing silently. Jazz followed him once more, hoping he wouldn’t make too much noise; Prowl caught him by the waist when he was partway down, slowing his fall enough that his landing made little sound. Above them, the skylight closed on pneumatic hinges with a soft ‘click.’

“Not so bad?” Prowl murmured, hands still on Jazz’s waist. Jazz’s hands rested on Prowl’s arms. Neither moved. “Less than you expected?”

“More fun,” Jazz whispered, surprised to find he meant it. There was a thrill to sneaking around like this – was that one of the reasons Prowl did what he did? “Sneak in here often?”

Prowl chuckled, still not letting Jazz go. “I sneak in many places often, as you know. We’ve got one more to sneak into tonight, as a matter of fact. But we’re going to miss the curtain if we don’t hurry. This way.”

The area of the theatre they were in – high up in the auditorium, backing onto a series of private boxes – was deserted and slightly dusty. That wasn’t surprising; economic downturn meant mechs of all strata had less to spend on luxuries like entertainment. The theatre had probably closed off the topmost, and therefore most expensive, tier of boxes to save money on lighting and staffing.

They had the most expensive seats in the house, and they had them all to themselves. Jazz loved theatre but rarely got the chance to go and had never been in a box. He’d wanted to but hadn’t had the opportunity.

“Did you know I’ve always wanted to be in one of these?” he breathed to Prowl as they took their seats at the back of a darkened, centrally located, box. Prowl just smiled and shushed him.

The play centred around a newly mature mech taking revenge on his uncle, who had murdered his creator and subsequently become _conjunx endurae_ with his sator. It was unclear whether the vengeance took place at the behest of the actual creator’s spirit, a hallucination, or a demon pretending to be the creator’s spirit. The way the play was lit and blocked it could have been any of them. Jazz knew this one, of course, but he’d always enjoyed seeing it performed. Every company had a different take.

Usually, he might have questioned attending a play full of murders on a first (early?) date, but with Prowl it made a decreasingly disturbing amount of sense.

Jazz decided he’d worry about that ‘decreasingly’ part later. He was genuinely enjoying himself and – and he didn’t _feel_ like being wholly responsible right now.

Maybe he never had. Maybe he’d just told himself that.

“Enjoying yourself?” Prowl asked during the intermission. They had withdrawn into the shadows at the back of the box when the house lights came on. Prowl was well inside Jazz’s personal space, hand resting low on Jazz’s back. Jazz found himself leaning into the touch, recalling the feel of Prowl’s hands on his waist earlier, warm and sure.

“I am,” Jazz admitted.

“Even with the crime?” Prowl teased. “Being made an accessory?”

“I’m not as worried over the crime as I probably should be.”

“That’s how I draw you in,” Prowl told him. He idly stroked up and down Jazz’s back with his fingertips. “Involving you in larger and larger activities until they stop bothering you. Do you want to walk away?”

“What if I said I want you to walk away from what you do?” Jazz challenged. “If I said that was the price to be with me?”

“Hmm.” Prowl sounded thoughtful. Jazz just caught the mischief in the assassin’s optics as Prowl leaned in and kissed him. Prowl tasted faintly of expensive high-grade, and his kiss was slow and hot, lingering. “I’d say the price isn’t too high. Not too high at all.”

“I – “ Jazz cupped the back of Prowl’s neck and pulled him in for another kiss. Prowl purred happily and kissed him back but pulled away too soon.

“Second act’s starting, lover.”

“Yeah,” Jazz managed, not letting Prowl go, relishing the feel of the other mech’s body pressed lightly against his. “Yeah, it is.”


End file.
